Posted: July 2, 2004

Athletics: Runnin' Scared: Dipsea 2004

By Shirley Matson

Dipsea "fever" begins in earnest mid-March when the entry forms are sent out. I opened my application booklet and became depressed. I had logged a total of 83 miles since January 1st and had enough zeros in my logbook to eliminate the national debt. I closed the booklet, set it aside and did not enter the race. As a past winner (1993, 2000-01), I had the privilege of entering as late as race day, and I chose that option. With the race scheduled for June 13, 2004, I had 12 weeks to start running, develop some endurance and peak just in time for the race. Enough time if only I could start running.

Nagging hip and butt pain (piriformis syndrome) limited any significant training. I started taking baby steps, stopping to stretch frequently, trying to put in some miles. Frustration was a significant factor, and depression came along for the ride. Slowly I added some miles and eventually logged a magnificent 20 miles per week.

"How can I do the Dipsea on such minimal mileage? I'm so out of shape. My time is running out," I thought as I was running scared. By mid-April I tried the dreaded 676 Dipsea stairs. On May 16th I ran my first complete Dipsea training run in 1:18:46. It was the slowest I have ever run the course. I would have to run at least a 1:08 to be competitive. I had to cut 10 minutes in four weeks!

The rugged 7.1-mile trail race has a unique handicap system that gives men and women, boys and girls an equal opportunity to win the race outright. Nine-year-old Megan McGowan won in 1991-92 and 70+ Joe King won in 1995-96. Fifteen hundred runners are allowed on the course (starting at one-minute intervals according to their handicaps) to scale the stairs in Mill Valley, struggle up, up and away over Mt. Tamalpais and fly downhill to finish at spectacular Stinson Beach on the Pacific coast. It's a beautiful course if one could enjoy the scenery.

In addition to the handicap starts, the winner is penalized the following year with a three-minute penalty (followed the next year by two minutes and the next year by one minute). This is to try to equalize the playing field, "shuffle the cards" and not have the same people win repeatedly. Sal Vasquez claims the most victories with seven, and I followed next with three and I would be trying for my fourth. About ten runners have double victories.

Melody-Anne Schultz, who won in 1999 and 2003, was favored to win her "Triple Crown," even with a three-minute penalty from her 2003 win. Russ Kiernan, winner in 1998 and 2002, held a two-minute penalty from his 2002 triumph and was predicted to take second place. I held a one-minute penalty from my win in 2001 and I was not in the predictions. Of course there are more contenders than Melody, Russ and myself; however, in the last six years we have each won the race twice.

But would I be running the race? People kept asking, and I said, "I don't know yet. I'm thinking about it." I had no confidence. I would have a three-minute head start on Melody, and a seven-minute head start on Russ. I speculated Melody could run about 1:05 and Russ could run about 1:01. If I could run 1:08, we could all be coming down the finish line together. It could be an exciting race and a close finish. It was anyone's guess. But was I going to compete? I hadn't decided.

Two weeks before the race, I sent in my application. I realized I was blessed to be running again, and I didn't want to miss the opportunity to participate whatever my time or place. I might be running scared, but I would run. Checking my logbook from last year I noticed that my last training run (10 days before the race) was almost identical to last year's training. I concluded that I should be able to run a similar race time as last year…somewhere around 1:08. I was encouraged.

And then I watched the Belmont Stakes on Saturday, June 5 where Smarty Jones, the undefeated favorite, was going for the Triple Crown in horse racing. All the handicappers and the whole country were rooting for him. He couldn't lose. And then it happened. On the final stretch to the finish, along came underdog "Birdstone" out of "nowhere" to pull up beside him and win by a length.

I started thinking that running is a "horse race" and anything can happen. "There is no such thing as a safe bet," or "It ain't over until it's over," and "That's why they call it a horse race." I remembered that I was favored to win my first attempt at the Dipsea in 1992, but I was defeated by 10-year-old Megan McGowan. I believed it was possible that I could be "Birdstone." I could be the underdog who surprised everyone by moving to the front and keeping the favorite "Smarty Jones" competitors behind me. I could run strong, steady, smooth and safe. I could win. I could upset the bid for a Dipsea Triple Crown. I told only a few close friends that they should call me "Birdstone."

I started to visualize the race. I felt myself going up the stairs with a steady rhythm. I checked my splits and I was on pace. I pulled ahead of the first head start group and I was in the lead. I must stay in the lead. Melody was three minutes behind, Russ seven minutes behind. I would never know how much they might be gaining on me, and they could catch me anytime on the downhill portion of the course. With adrenalin pumping through my veins, I was running scared. I visualized myself reaching the top of Cardiac in 46:00, and with renewed energy I flew down the hill, bounding over the rutted fire roads, the uneven stairs on Steep Ravine and the final assault on Insult Hill. I was running strong and steady, maintaining an even rhythm with my breathing and with my footsteps. I was in sync. I saw myself coming down the finish line and I heard announcer Barry Spitz calling my name, saying I was making history and winning the Dipsea for the fourth time. I felt it in my bones. I felt it in my blood. I believed it. And then I let it go.

I had done all the training I could. I had rested properly. I had eaten right. I was well hydrated. And now I was calm. When the pre-race jitters started up, I faced them head on, saying to myself, "It's already done. I've already won. Now I just have to show up and allow it to play out. Whatever the outcome, I am fine with it because I have done all I can do. Just let it go and let it happen."

I slept well the night before the race. I was calm and relaxed as I ate a small breakfast of strawberries and oatmeal. And then I was off to the race. I have a favorite place I like to park, but the street was filled with cars…except one spot waiting for me. I took it and felt it was an omen. I warmed up and chatted with a few runners, and then spent a few quiet moments alone. I went to the starting gate and soon was off and running.

My first split at the bottom of the stairs told me I was on target for a 1:08 race. The top of the stairs confirmed it. All along the course, my personal splits were telling me I was on pace, but I had to keep going, keep going, keep it on the edge. Can't let up, but don't try to go harder. Stay steady, strong, smooth and safe. I was running scared for real, but there was no fear. I reached Cardiac in 46:23, just seven seconds slower than last year. Now I faced the down hill challenge. I knew Melody and Russ were both fierce and fearless downhill runners, whereas I am cautious and unsteady, and this is where they could catch me. I had to let go and fly. Taking smaller steps with a faster turnover, I kept a rhythm in my head.

And then I fell. This was not in my plan. I did not visualize falling. I went headfirst on a downhill fire road near a trail called Swoop. On the way down, a little voice said, "You're out of the race." A quick assessment determined that I only had abrasions on my right knee, quad and elbow. No twisted ankles, so I could still run. As the precious seconds slipped away, I gave myself a pep talk, "You can't be spending time in the dirt. Every second counts. You better get up and stay up. Stay safe, stay steady, stay strong and stay smooth." That became my mantra.

After cresting Insult Hill, I asked a course monitor if anyone was coming. "No one in sight." I was not surprised by her answer. It was what I expected to hear and what I wanted to hear. It was like a deja vu experience. But I knew it wasn't over yet. I still had more work to do. Even so, I started to feel the tingling and the exhilaration of living out what I had visualized. The race was playing out according to my plan (except the fall). Down the last few cut offs, through the poison oak, over a bridge and around the corner. And there it was…the finish line lined with hundreds of spectators shouting and clapping. I surged toward the tape as Barry Spitz called my name saying I was winning for the fourth time. Only Sal Vasquez has won the Dipsea more times in the 99-year history of the race.

After crossing the line in 1:08:23 (46:23 clock time), I looked back to see Russ Kiernan come in second place, 29 seconds behind me in 1:01:52. He had passed Melody on the final turn. She followed in third place, 11 seconds behind Russ in 1:06:03. It was a close race. The handicaps equalized the playing field and it was a "horse race." I may have been running scared but I had the confidence of "Birdstone."

The 94th Dipsea Race - Mill Valley to Stinson Beach, Marin County, CA - Sunday, June 13, 2004

Pl/Athlete/Clock Time/Actual Time/HTime
1) Shirley Matson, 63, Larkspur, CA, 46:23/1:08:23/22
2) Russ Kiernan, 66, Mill Valley, CA, 46:52/1:01:52/15
3) Melody Anne Schultz, 62, Ross, CA, 47:03/1:06:03/19
4) Alesandra Roger, 14, San Rafael, CA, 47:19/58:19/11
5) Dan Nelson, 40, Pleasanton, CA, 48:19/50:19/2
6) Cliff Lentz, 39, Brisbane, CA, 48:26/50:26/2
7) Mike McManus, 38, West Linn, OR, 48:59/50:59/2
8) Diana Fitzpatrick, 46, Larkspur, CA, 49:22/1:01:22/12
9) Jamie Berns, 53, Corte Madera, CA, 49:51/1:03:51/14
10) Roy Rivers, 47, Mill Valley, CA, 50:06/54:06/4

Full results and more at: /www.dipsea.org.

From RunningUSA Wire.